Exposure
by lastknownwriter
Summary: Tired of burning the candle at both ends, Dean Winchester takes an unusual modeling gig with an enigmatic photographer named Castiel.
1. Chapter 1

"How do you feel about nudity?" The redhead cracked her gum while she waited for Dean to answer.

"Uh, this is art modeling right?" He shot her his most flirty wink. "Kinda goes with the territory."

"Yeah, whatever," she sighed, sliding a clipboard over the countertop.

Dean thought she might have even rolled her eyes. Duly rebuffed, he took the pen she wiggled in front of his face and began to fill out the form.

"When you're finished, stack your clipboard here," she pointed. "And there's a robe for you in the dressing room there. Au naturel for test shots, please."

She spun out of the waiting area, a whirlwind of bright hair and dark boots and more confidence than Dean had in his little toe.

Oh, he was confident enough about his looks, or he wouldn't be here. But he had never quite mastered that ease of self he envied in other people, people like his childhood friend Jo or his brother Sam, or some random secretary in an artsy downtown loft photography studio.

The release was simple enough, although he grinned at the ballsy description of the proposed showing he would be modeling for: _An intimate study of the male human body at the moment of climax._

He shifted in his seat and glanced around at the other men dutifully waiting in their bathrobes. There were some handsome guys here, totally male model types, and he would bet his last ten bucks none of them had motor oil wedged so far under their fingernails it would likely never scrub clean. _An intimate study…_ He wondered how he was going to measure up against them in this crazy _male anatomy_ sliding scale. Would they be graded on a curve? One dark haired guy met his gaze and winked and Dean flushed; well, okay then. A friendly one.

Although, he realized with a rush of embarrassment, each and every guy in the room had just read and signed the exact same document.

So they were all thinking the same thing.

About his junk.

_Fuck,_ he swore to himself. But the job paid five hundred bucks a week for the whole semester, a veritable fortune for an adult student like Dean, and _dammit_, he could really use a break right now. He was burning the candle at both ends between his classes in the morning, work at the auto shop in the afternoon, and tending bar at the Roadhouse when he could spare the time.

At some point in the next two years he'd like to sleep more than three hours straight.

"Mr. Winchester? Robe?" The girl was back and frowning at him like she might cut him from auditioning on principal.

"Yeah, give me five minutes." Dean tossed the signed paperwork on her desk and strode past the other robe-clad men to the dressing room.

To get naked.

God help him.

…

_Well this isn't awkward at all,_ Dean thought, rocking back on his bare heels.

The participants faced a blank white wall, a line of handsome naked men covered in plush white terry cloth. When their shoulder was tapped, they turned and opened their robe.

The click and whir of a Polaroid camera gave Dean all the makings of a good old-fashioned panic attack.

He jumped when his shoulder was tapped. He knew his face was flaming even though he had been art modeling for a couple of semesters now. It was the whole set up; the other people in the room, the competitive edge, the dark haired man that paced an array of photography equipment against the far wall.

The redhead snapped the photo and waved it in her hand a few times before passing it over her shoulder to her assistant. When Dean didn't close his robe she grinned. "You can wrap it back up, Mr. Winchester."

Dean flushed even redder and snatched the fronts of his robe together before spinning back around.

"Okay, you may all return to the waiting area to get dressed. We'll call you," she chirped.

Dean scrubbed his mouth a few times, impatient to grab his clothes and get the hell out of there; no way in fuck was he getting this job, he had peeked at the guy standing next to him. Impressive_._ That was all he was saying.

Being last in line, Dean was also last in the dressing room.

When he finally emerged, the redhead was waiting, tapping her foot impatiently at the door.

"Oh good, you're still here. Congratulations. Can you start tonight?"

…

"What do you mean you got a job?" Sam asked with a laugh. "Dean you already have like four jobs."

"Two, smart ass, and this one pays well enough I can drop one of the others."

"Sure. You're going to voluntarily give up money. Cash money."

"Shut up, Sam."

"What time will you be home?"

Dean and Sam shared an apartment; being the older brother at twenty-seven, Dean had lived on his own for almost ten years. Sam was just starting his second year of graduate school and was on track to make twice Dean's yearly earnings the minute he graduated.

Life sucked that way, but Dean wouldn't do it any different, even if he could. He and Sam were close, and he would miss the dumb fuck when he finally got a life and moved out. Their little apartment on Rochester street would be depressingly empty.

"I dunno, maybe late? I'm, uh, training." He hoped his blush wasn't audible.

"Yeah okay, have fun on that stripper pole then. Bring home the big tips!"

"Asshole," Dean muttered, hanging up without saying goodbye. He rolled his eyes. _Little brothers. _

He hoped Sam never found out how close he was to the truth.

"Mr. Winchester?"

Dean jumped. "Dean." He cleared his throat nervously.

Charlie, the redhead, grinned. "Dean. Ready to get naked and get snappin'?"

Dean laughed at her exaggerated leer. It was kind of endearing, and immensely calming. "That's what I'm here for, right?"

Charlie waved him through the door. "Okay, so here's the rundown." She talked fast, snapping her gum every third syllable or so. "Castiel is going to be setting up lighting for the first piece tonight. So mostly you'll be lying around in your birthday suit, staring at the ceiling."

"That's it?" Dean glanced around the room; someone had upped the thermostat apparently, because it was warm. He didn't see the dark haired man from before.

"Basically," Charlie shrugged. "Cas has to have a special permit to shoot nudes, especially for this project due to its," she wagged her eyebrows and Dean grinned. "_Suggestive nature._"

"So, porn," Dean teased.

"_Art._" Charlie corrected sternly, but the twinkle in her eye gave her away. "Anyway. I have to be present as a character witness or something. I don't know. I'll be around though. I'm gay, by the way."

Dean blinked a few times. "Okay."

She rolled her eyes. "So, you know. Your virtue is safe with me."

Dean bit back a smile. "Thanks."

"Shut up, Winchester and take off your clothes." _Pop._

Dean grinned and held up his hands in acquiescence. He moved to where her long finger was pointing, a pile of what looked like cheesy sheepskin rugs artfully piled under a mishmash of umbrellas and softboxes.

Taking off his clothes had never been more nerve-wracking. Partly because of the strange setting and circumstances and partly because he was on edge waiting for the photographer to show up. Dean had never modeled for a camera before; what if he sucked? What if the guy asked him to make those godawful faces with pursed lips and arched eyebrows, or manipulate his body into cheesy playgirl poses?

There was nothing to cover himself with once he was naked, so he sat in the middle of the sheepskin (it was startlingly soft on his ass cheeks, a pleasant surprise) and folded his hands in his lap.

And waited.

Ten minutes later out of nowhere the guy appeared. Disheveled and angry and frowning at Dean like he was an intruder.

Dean jumped when he thrust an index card at him.

"Scene!" Charlie called from behind the row of umbrellas.

"Huh?" Dean asked, looking up at the man. Hesitantly he took the card and read it. _Lie back on the rugs. Hands behind your head. One knee bent. Tilt hips twenty degrees to the west. _

"It's the scene," Charlie said, squatting down so she was at Dean's eye level.

He barely refrained from covering his crotch. He glanced back up but the guy was ten feet away again, light meter and camera in hand. Dean swallowed nervously. "Is he always like that?" he whispered.

"Like what?" Charlie whispered back.

"Angry. Silent." Dean handed her the card and lay back. Seemed simple enough.

"Oh. Cas doesn't talk." Charlie stood up and disappeared.

"What, like ever?" Dean craned his neck but he couldn't spot her. He jumped when the flash fired.

The photographer,_ Cas_, was frowning again, fiddling with the meter before stalking back to a table where about a dozen different lenses waited.

When he returned, Dean was ready, posed as close to the card as he could remember. It seemed to be good enough, because Cas' shoulders relaxed, _minutely,_ and he began a slow sort of dance around Dean.

Dean began to relax too, after the first several minutes of severe performance anxiety, where he wondered if his dick was positioned pretty enough (fuck his life). The steady click and whir of the camera's focus and shutter soothed his nerves and he drifted off in his mind as he stared out the windows at a fantastic golden sunset. He froze when Cas suddenly squatted beside him and grasped his chin tilting it slightly up and to the left.

There was a lengthy pause as he studied Dean at close range, his eyes startlingly blue, and Dean fought the urge to fidget. When it grew too uncomfortable, he looked away, gazing out of the window, and Cas snapped a single shot.

Dean had a feeling that one wasn't on the original shot list.

Cas disappeared and Charlie was there, tossing Dean a Mars bar.

"Nice job, handsome. You wanna go grab a beer and pick up girls?"

Dean sat up and grinned. "I'd love to."

Maybe this was going to be an okay job after all.


	2. Chapter 2

The next four days were the same. Same sheepskin. Same pose. Same frowning silent photographer.

Only the bar changed, after the shoot_._

Charlie was luckier in the field than Dean was, but that could be because she kept taking him to lesbian bars.

Cas never said a word, never made a suggestion, not even a written one, until the fifth night.

The sun had sunk past the horizon and the sky was tinged a deep pink. Charlie wasn't feeling well and had gone upstairs to Cas' apartment to lie down. Cas had been more careful in his movements tonight, taking several more close ups than usual, from all angles, and of all parts of Dean's anatomy, even from behind.

It was a little unnerving, even though Dean had gotten over the exposed feeling of being nude a couple of days ago.

When he laid a hand on Dean's thigh and pulled as though to turn him on his side, their eyes met and Dean suppressed a shiver. _Goddamn,_ the man had some intense eyes. He was also unfairly gorgeous, and the mysterious muteness was killing Dean. Charlie had brushed off his questions and Cas continued communicating via ruled index card, so Dean had let it ride. But tonight, something was altogether different.

Cas was less groomed, for one. He was normally neat as a pin in either dark, starched jeans and a button down or dress slacks and shirt. His hair was always freshly washed and carefully arranged, but currently it was unruly, sticking up in all directions, finger combed at best. He was also barefoot and wearing ripped, worn jeans and a faded band tee, a state of affairs that Dean found mouth-wateringly appealing. Since he figured springing a boner on in the middle of his photography session might throw everything off kilter, he filled his mind with unsexy thoughts.

Like sushi.

And spiders.

Cas' cheeks were unshaven and he had dark circles under his eyes and when he squatted and placed his hand on Dean to turn him, he smelled faintly of cigarette smoke. He looked good enough to eat and Dean bit the inside of his cheek _hard_ to control the urge to push that soft hand a little further inland.

He rolled to his side accommodatingly and Cas smiled.

Just before he patted Dean's butt.

Dean huffed a laugh and tucked his fist under his head. This pose hadn't been on the scene card; they were winging it now.

Cas studied him with pursed lips, then took a few shots before he repositioned Dean's arm and head. When he ran his fingers through his hair, Dean couldn't entirely suppress a shiver and he was rewarded with another small smile.

Cas laid a finger in the center of his lips, seemingly asking Dean to remain silent and still and scooted back a couple of feet to sit cross legged on the floor.

After a few moments of tense waiting for whatever came next, Dean's shoulders got tired and he relaxed.

That's when Cas started shooting.

Dean couldn't quite hold back a grin. Damn photographer got what he wanted without saying a word. When Cas lowered the camera to scowl, Dean winked and schooled his face back into its previous serious expression. Satisfied, Cas began to shoot again.

Dean thought the angle couldn't possibly be very flattering. Cas was probably shooting straight up his nostrils.

He _might_ have jumped when Cas spun on his hips and turned the camera on Dean's groin.

And he _might_ have held his breath when Cas reached over to nudge his knees apart so his dick would roll soft against his thigh.

He didn't touch it, but he was most assuredly photographing it with the same intensity and focus he had planted on Dean's face.

All told, it was the strangest night of Dean's life.

When Cas stood up and walked away, Dean knew he was done for the night, but he lay in the center of the sheepskin and breathed deeply for a few minutes before he got dressed.

…

After two weeks, they went on location.

Dean felt like an exhibitionist at first, naked in the woods and praying there were no creepy crawlies under the bed of leaves he was lying on top of.

Cas' eyes sparked with humor when he grumbled about chafing when he made Dean lean his ass against a tree for a solid twenty minutes.

They had barreled past what Dean was referring to as _soft dick_ stage a few days ago, and were racing headlong into, _oh God fuck me now_, territory.

Charlie was one thousand percent no help in this arena because she laughed uproariously at Dean's discomfort (and stupidly easy erection whenever Cas came within three feet).

Cas, unfortunately, seemed blithely unaware. He might be a little more licentiously descriptive on his goddamn scene cards (and Dean was convinced he was doing it just to torture him) but he kept his distance and the only thing spending quality time with the excitable parts of Dean's body was his own right hand.

_Christ Almighty_,Dean exhaled shakily, when he read Cas' card for the third time. "Cas, you fucker, I'm not doing that."

Cas just raised one eyebrow in that infuriating way he had, and went about playing with his stupid light meter.

Charlie was a hundred yards away chatting on her cell phone to her latest conquest.

"There might be _fire ants_, or, or, or, _fungus_ on that tree!" Dean fisted his hands on his hips defiantly.

Cas snapped a photo.

"Stop that," Dean groused, realizing it was near impossible to look imposing while naked, and marched over to said tree to scowl at it. Never mind that he was ass naked in the middle of the forest at sunset with the most gorgeous man he'd ever met, a man who _daily_ wrote him dirty notes in shorthand on a goddamn three by five scrap of cardstock just to get him hard.

A man who right this _fucking_ second was waiting patiently for Dean to pop a chubby against the "pretty bark" of this godforsaken tree and wrap one of his legs "artfully" around the base.

Like he was screwing it.

Like it was a _"giant bark covered dildo"._

Fuck his ever fucking life.

He tensed when fingers carded through the hair at the base of his scalp. He hadn't even heard the bastard's approach. Cas gently turned Dean's face away, toward the forest, and nudged Dean's knee forward. Dean held his breath, stomach clenching tightly when those long slender fingers finally, _finally,_ touched him, _oh Jesus,_ but only to slant his dick forward against his thigh. Dean closed his eyes and started counting to one million.

He had to start over when Cas decided to reposition him.

Cas leveled the camera on Dean's shoulder, shooting down, leaning into his naked back as easily as if he were embracing him.

Dean let himself imagine that was what was happening here, absorbing the soft heat of Cas' shirt against his bare back, and the hard line of his hips against his ass.

He swallowed a whimper when Cas squeezed his waist before walking away.

It was as close to affection as they'd come yet, and Dean wondered how long it took to die from longing.

…


	3. Chapter 3

After the woods, they got creative.

There was a water shoot in a river bed, and Dean never came so hard in his life as he did that night when he finally made it home and into the shower.

Then a street scene that required a city permit and a just before dawn shoot that garnered an assload of amused attention from the prostitutes and homeless population. Cas had pity on him and kept his scene notes PG.

The classic car shoot was when shit got real.

Charlie had a last minute change of plans and Cas was going to cancel, but one look at Dean's crestfallen expression and he was pulling Dean out the door behind him.

Singer Auto Body was closed (thank _God_, Bobby would shit a brick) but the overgrown field behind the shop must have been perfect for whatever it was Cas had planned because he was practically bouncing on his heels while Dean backed the 1967 Chevy Impala into place.

Dean hoped the guy they had rented it from never found out his bare ass cheeks were flush against the vintage leather.

Cas' notecard was simple. _Lie on your back on the hood._

Dean grumbled as he climbed up, because it's _what he did,_ and Cas expected it. He yelped when Cas slapped his ass when he took too long, the sting shooting straight to his dick, warmth spreading outward from there. He rolled over, laying back on the windshield, starting when Cas handed him another card. _Uh oh_.Two card nights were the things Dean dreamed about for days afterward.

Two card nights took him to the brink and back, again and again, the only constant the click of the shutter.

He shivered in anticipation.

_Spread eagle._

He swallowed and met Cas' eyes. They were dusky blue in the dimming light. He passed it back and got into position.

He didn't even have to use his (increasingly smutty) imaginary Cas encounters to get his nether regions ready. Cas circling the car, the faint starlight far above, the heat of the motor against his backside; Dean was achingly hard in no time. His dick curved up against his stomach and he wished for _once in this godforsaken farce,_ that Cas would touch it, and not like it was a prop. Like it was wanted, as desperately as Dean wanted Cas himself.

Like it was part of Dean. Like Dean mattered.

Melancholy, he closed his eyes and wished for the first time the night would end early.

When a hand fell on his arm he opened his eyes to find Cas staring down at him, concerned.

"I can't," Dean muttered. "Don't ask me to tonight."

Cas frowned and tugged on Dean's wrist, pulling him off the hood. Dean's eyes widened when he began to back up, taking Dean with him, opening the passenger door and popping up the front seat. He hesitated, apparently waiting for Dean to decide if this was acceptable.

"Oh _hell, yeah,_" Dean said with feeling, climbing into the back seat. And in case Cas didn't get the memo, he tugged on his hand to pull him in after him.

Cas grinned and shut the door, letting the passenger seat fall into place.

It was crowded.

Dean was naked.

Cas was still clothed and holding a camera.

Dean wondered what the fucking _hell_ they were going to do next when Cas bent forward and kissed him, softly at first and then with increasing pressure until Dean was forced to lie back and accept Cas' weight on his body. They maneuvered the bench seat, legs and arms, Dean's erection still hopelessly in play.

He eventually pried the camera from Cas' fingers and broke the kiss long enough to lean forward and lay it safely on the front seat.

He also managed to pull Cas' shirt from his shoulders, sitting up to straddle his denim-clad hips awkwardly and feeling like a teenager on a first date.

Cas' snapping dark eyes and freely roaming hands gave Dean all the reassurance he needed to grind down on his lap with abandon.

"Cas," he whispered, but Cas gripped his ears and caught his mouth again. His kissed Dean like he might die if he ever stopped, and that's when Dean knew: all of those torturous photo shoots where he went home with blue balls and aching heart had been equally hard on his gorgeous photographer. "You're so beautiful," he muttered, reaching between them to unfasten Cas' jeans. He bit his lip when Cas' fist encircled him and stroked slowly down his length. "Want to take _your_ photo." He grinned mischievously, letting out a rather unmanly squeak when Cas lifted him by the ass so he could wiggle out of his jeans.

When they were both naked, and finally skin to skin, Dean died.

Figuratively speaking.

When he was able to catch his breath again he rubbed his mouth across Cas' parted lips, licking between them in short panting kisses. "Want you," he exhaled, resting their foreheads together, breath stuttering when Cas took them both in his hand.

Cas caught his mouth, swallowing his moans, his free hand stroking his hip and back, squeezing hard enough to bruise when he came against Dean's stomach.

Dean collapsed against him seconds later, sweaty and sated and breathless. He wrinkled his nose when Cas laid a damp hand on his thigh. Cas nuzzled into the crook of his neck, brushing soft kisses into the skin there.

"This was my favorite shoot yet," Dean said with feeling, tilting his head to give Cas more access.

Cas snorted and bit him, then licked at the bruise until Dean began to seriously contemplate his refractory time.

"Cas?" he whispered.

Cas leaned back and cocked his head.

Dean licked his lips nervously. "Would you like to have dinner with me?"

He held on tight when Cas surged forward, reaching over the front seat, one hand firm against the small of Dean's back. They fell back against the seat when Cas found what he was looking for: a notecard and pencil.

Cas scratched something out on the card, holding it flush against Dean's naked chest. He paused only to nudge Dean's chin out of the way when he tried to peek.

Dean absorbed Cas instead of fretting over the scribbled answer, just in case his happy bubble was about to be shattered. He fondly watched Cas' brow wrinkle in concentration as the pencil flew across the paper, relished the muscles of his strong thighs moving under his backside. Cas looked, and smelled, like sex, and Dean knew with absolute certainty, he was a goner.

When Cas tossed the pencil to the front seat, he held his breath.

Their eyes met and clung for beat before Cas flipped the card around for Dean to read it.

_You are the most frustrating, cocky, foul-mouthed, willful subject I have ever employed. _

_Your dick is also the most beautiful._

_I will have dinner with you, if you will let me dress you._

Dean snorted and then raised one brow. "Dress me?"

Cas huffed and surged forward again to scrabble for the pencil. He held his lip between his teeth as he wrote.

_You're the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen and I've wanted to put clothes on you almost as much as I've thanked God you keep taking them off for me._

Dean blushed and ducked his head, wriggling when Cas slid a hand around the back of his neck and kissed him gently. He exhaled unsteadily and smiled, feeling suddenly shy and stupidly happy. "Okay. I'll let you dress me."

Cas' eyes took on a feral gleam and he wrote quickly across the bottom of the card.

_However I want?_

Dean huffed. "Yeah. Whatever you want. I'm all yours."

Cas smiled and dropped the card and pencil to the floorboard. He crooked his finger, although how Dean was supposed to get any closer than he already was, sitting on his lap, their bodies flush in all the right places, Dean had no idea.

He gave it some good old fashioned Winchester effort anyway.

They did eventually leave the backseat.

But it still counted as the longest photo shoot either of them had ever done.

…


	4. Chapter 4

"Am I gonna be traumatized?" Sam hesitated in the foyer of the museum. "I mean, I'm not going to be admiring your O face or anything am I?"

"For fucks sake, Sammy," Dean muttered, flushing. It was bad enough he was in this monkey suit for the duration of the evening; he would have much preferred to show up for the opening in jeans and a flannel. His nerves were already shot and the tuxedo and shiny shoes were giving him a stomach ache.

"And where's Cas? I thought he was going to meet us here?" Sam held back at the entrance. "Maybe he bailed." He watched Dean's jerky movements with a smirk. He was only teasing. Cas had already let Sam have a sneak peek at the show. It had been a trip to watch his brother fall head over heels in love with a guy; even more of a revelation to see that Dean actually _did_ possess an impressive number of grown up communication skills. They were sort of a necessity when your boyfriend didn't speak.

Secretly, Sam had had doubts Dean would ever find someone (other than Sam) who would put up with his relentless jumbled mess of _stuff_, his too loud music, his erratic sleeping patterns. Not only had Cas been willing, the two of them were perfectly suited and disgustingly happy in Cas' loft apartment.

It was nothing short of astounding.

In a good way, of course. Now Sam could breathe easy and stop worrying.

As they circled the gallery, Sam watched Dean's face light up when he spotted Cas across the room.

And that was the oddest thing of all. Sam had spent a lifetime worrying about Dean, who in turn worried too much and worked too hard to provide for Sam, and a part of him had always assumed he would resent anyone that came between that bond. But as he watched Cas pull Dean close, his lips grazing Dean's cheek with a soft smile, Sam felt only amused fondness and a trunkful of gratitude. And love.

"Great show, Cas."

Cas smiled.

Dean beamed.

"And nice turn out, too." Sam tucked his tongue firmly in cheek. "Is Little Dean gonna make an appearance later, maybe sign some autographs? Take some selfies?"

"Sammy!"

Sam laughed all the way to the bar, where he ordered three glasses of champagne, slipping the shining gold ring Cas had passed him into one of the glasses.

He smiled as he made his way slowly toward his brother and the photographer. Cas had fretted for days about getting the exact perfect words on a notecard, until Sam was ready to strangle him.

"It doesn't matter what you say, Cas, Dean's answer is still going to be yes."

Cas' deep blue eyes had been grateful and sweet and that's when Sam felt the first twinges of brotherly love for him. And so they had come up with an alternate plan, a more visual one that spoke to Dean and Cas' beginnings, no notecards required.

Because some things, Sam thought, as he watched Dean sip the champagne, his eyes widening when he spotted the ring nestled at the bottom of the glass before they flew to Cas' expectant face...

Some things required no words.

_fin_


End file.
